


Travelin' Soldier

by country13



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Falling In Love, M/M, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Temporary Character Death, Vietnam War, Violence, period specific racial slurs used, period specific slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/country13/pseuds/country13
Summary: It was the summer of 1968, and all Ian Gallagher can think about is turning eighteen and joining the Army to fight for his country in the Vietnam War. It's all he's ever wanted to do. That is, until the day he meets Mickey Milkovich, a recently drafted soldier who changes his life forever, in more ways than one.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Travelin' Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the song, Travelin' Soldier. I don't know why, but every time I heard this song, I thought of our boys and felt compelled to put them into this story. It was just one of those things that wouldn't get out of my head until I put it down on paper. Thank you to my beta, Terri, for always being my sounding board and for being so patient with me! I hope you like it!

Ian Gallagher leaned on the counter of Patsy’s Pies, the diner where he worked with his sister, Fiona. His ear was pressed close to the speaker of the portable radio he had brought in several months ago, much to his sister’s chagrin. He found it one day while passing by a yard sale in their Southside neighborhood, and since, like most people in the area, they couldn’t afford a new television or even a good used one, Ian’s radio was their only link to the outside world and everything that was going on. Namely, the Vietnam War.

It was August 1968 during one of the hottest summers Chicago had ever seen. There was upheaval in the city as public approval of the war effort was gradually eroding in the form of riots and anti-war protests which had even reached their neighborhood to some degree, when usually the people who lived there, mainly poor Irish families, were only concerned with surviving day to day in their crappy living conditions. But it seemed everyone, regardless of their race, political standing, or religious beliefs, was fed up with the war and more than ready for it to be over. Or at least our involvement in it.

That is, everyone except for Ian. Or so it seemed. Being supportive of the war during this time of extreme violence, loss, and uncertainty was not something you advertised. But Ian had dreamed of being in the Army and serving his country for as long as he could remember. Not just being a soldier in the Army-he wanted to be an officer. The Vietnam War started when he was only four years old, and even then, he had ideas of grandeur. As he got older, his desire to serve and protect had only gotten stronger.

Ian wasn’t sure where his love of the military came from. His dad, Frank, was an alcoholic and drug addict who had told him many tales of his draft-dodging, one of which included shooting himself in the foot. He even showed Ian the scar. Well, a scar. Who even knew where the mark really came from. Frank wasn’t around that much, but when he was, he was always full of liquor and tall tales.

Ian’s mom was in some mental hospital somewhere up in North Chicago. Ian was told vaguely that she had some mental illness, but she had never been in his life, so he didn’t ask questions about her. His sister, Fiona, was the one who raised him mostly, along with his other four siblings-Lip, Debbie, Carl, and Liam. None of them understood his want or need to be in the military. None of them were even remotely political or patriotic. Fiona was particularly resentful of it. She and his older brother, Lip, did not hide their feelings about the war and his potential involvement in it. They were both worried about what would happen to him overseas. Fiona had pleaded with him on more than one occasion about how she did not want him to be one of the “many young men dying senselessly.”

Ian just didn’t see it that way. If going overseas and dying in the war for his country was his destiny, then so be it. Ian was seventeen now and was practically counting the days off on his calendar when he turned eighteen in seven months so that he could finally enlist and fulfill his patriotic duty. He couldn’t think of anything better than being a hero for the American people and making the ultimate sacrifice for them, if that was what asked of him.

Lip had another reason for being against Ian going into the Army, one that Ian had only shared with him. Ian was gay. He had known he was different since he was ten years old- the first time he saw Ricky Nelson’s picture on an album cover at Tracks, a local record store in the neighborhood where he and Lip would go and swipe albums they couldn’t afford to buy. Girls just didn’t interest him the way boys did. He didn’t understand boys’ fascination with them.

He also didn’t really understand why he felt the way he did until one night when he was fifteen years old and Lip dragged him to a party that he had no desire to go to. Lip claimed he wanted to get Ian laid, but once they got there and Ian spotted Karen Jackson, he knew the real reason. Lip had been following her around like a puppy all year. He thought she was a fox and she probably was, but Ian didn’t dig her at all.

But what Ian hadn’t known about that night was Lip’s intention for him. Apparently, Lip had been tutoring Karen in her science class to make extra money for their family. But on this night, unbeknownst to him, her payment was to come in the form of a blow job for Ian. By the time she got Ian in the bedroom and pulled down his pants and started trying suck his flaccid cock, he was so freaked out he pushed her away from him and bolted out of the room, running all the way back home.

It wasn’t Ian’s plan to ever tell anyone, especially not his family. Ian tried to keep up with the progress of the gay rights movement, but it had nowhere near the impact he would need to feel comfortable revealing that part of himself to anyone. He still didn’t really understand it himself. They still had a long way to go for queers, as they were called, to be able to live freely and be who they truly were.

That night after Lip came home from the party, he admitted to Ian that he had found his gay porn magazine under his bed. They had a long conversation about it, which included Ian letting Lip know that it wasn’t okay to call gay people, “poofters,” or any of the many slurs he had heard Lip use. Frank used them too, which Ian was sure was where Lip heard them, but he honestly didn’t give a crap what Frank thought. Lip was different. Lip was his brother, and his love and acceptance meant everything to him.

Shortly after that, Ian met a guy named Rodney McGrath at school when he joined the football team. Ian had played football since he was in seventh grade and loved it. It helped him stay in shape for his military aspirations, and taught him about hard work and being a team player, all the things he felt would help him in the Army. Rodney was a new transfer from Wisconsin. He had blonde hair and brown eyes, very good looking. One day after practice, Ian caught Rodney slyly smiling at him, and when he smiled back, Rodney nodded his head toward the bleachers.

Ian let him go over there first and followed him a few minutes later so they wouldn’t be discovered. If there had been any doubt in Ian’s mind that he was gay before that, there definitely wasn’t after that. Ian’s first sexual encounter with a guy was better than he’d ever imagined in his head. He was relieved that he finally understood all these feelings he’d been having and knew for a fact what he was. Of course dating wasn’t an option for them, so they settled for hooking up under the bleachers, until Rodney’s dad’s job transferred him to another state a couple of months before summer break.

There weren’t really feelings involved, so Ian wasn’t too heartbroken about it, but he sure was going to miss all the sex. It was still so new and exciting to him, and he wasn’t like all the other boys his age who hooked up with countless girls. It would be hard to find someone who was like him, especially at school. The kids were cruel to anyone who was different, and if anyone found out that he was gay, he feared that his life would be in danger.

Once school let out for the summer, Ian started working his bussing job at Patsy’s, something he had done every summer since he was fifteen. They needed the money and Ian was happy to help out as much as he could before he enlisted.

It was right before the lunch rush, so it was pretty slow, so Ian took the opportunity to listen to the latest news report about the war. The voice on the small radio was reporting the number of American soldiers killed in Vietnam the previous week when all of a sudden the radio was being turned off right in the middle of it.

“Hey!” Ian groused, looking up into the annoyed brown eyes of his sister. “I was listening to that!”

“And now you’re not,” Fiona replied as she grabbed his hand and slapped a few coins into his palm. “Go play some tunes on the jukebox. I’m sure customers would much rather hear that than the propaganda they’re spewing on there.”

Ian sighed heavily before turning to head toward the jukebox in the corner of the diner. “You’re a real bummer, you know that?” Before making it to the other side, he stopped in the middle of the empty dining room and waved his arms around. “Yeah, we’re really packing them in here, Fi,” Ian remarked, not hiding his sarcasm.

“Just shut up and do what I said,” Fiona demanded with a flip of her ponytail as she made her way back into the kitchen.

“Climb it, Tarzan,” Ian whispered under his breath so his sister wouldn’t hear as he inserted the change into the coin slot with force.

Ian made his selection. When the first notes of “Born to Be Wild” by Steppenwolf came on, he smiled to himself. He knew how much Fiona hated this song. The woman clearly had zero musical taste. Ian was so busy bopping along to the beat of the music that he didn’t hear the chime above the door go off.

“Ian!” Fiona called. “I’m busy prepping food for lunch. Grab that guy, will ya?”

Ian, still aggravated at her, rolled his eyes before looking around for whoever she was talking about. The guy had slid into the corner booth at the back of the diner. His head was down, his hands fidgeting in front of him. All Ian could tell was that he looked pretty young and had shiny black hair slicked back on his head.

Ian grabbed an order pad from the front counter then made his way over to the stranger. “What can I do you for, man?”

The man jumped, clearly startled by Ian’s presence. Ian was about to apologize when the man looked up at him. Then he froze as he was met with icy blue eyes. They were a beautiful shade, but also cold, distant, with a hint of sadness in them. He couldn’t have been much older than Ian. And his lips…they were so plump and pink. They were the best lips Ian had ever seen.

The guy didn’t answer him, just stared back at a mesmerized Ian. His eyes quickly glanced down Ian’s tall frame, then around the room, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ian had never seen anyone so beautiful and so scared in his whole life. What could have happened to this guy to make him that afraid? Ian wanted nothing more in that moment than to find out.

Ian didn’t want to freak him out though, so he cleared his throat to break the silence, hopefully prompting him to give his order. When he didn’t get the clue, Ian asked again, softer this time. “What can I get you?”

The man looked over and found the menu propped up behind the salt and pepper shakers. He grabbed it and after scanning it quickly, replied, “I’ll have a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake.”

All of Ian’s senses were on high alert at the sound of that voice. He was fascinated by how the man’s mouth moved when he talked, the swipe of his tongue across his lips when he finished. And his voice. Ian didn’t think he had ever heard a voice so sexy. It was a little shaky, like he was nervous, and he talked so fast. But at the same time, it was low and authoritative. It was the perfect contradiction.

Ian had forgotten all about his order until the guy looked up at him like he had grown two heads.

“Excellent choice.” Ian recovered, flashing him a friendly smile. When the guy looked up at him again, he quickly averted his eyes and replaced the menu to its original spot. “I’ll have it out to you in a minute.”

Ian waited for a beat longer than was necessary, trying to stall, hoping the guy would respond just so he could hear that voice again. When all he did was look out the window, all but ignoring Ian’s presence, he turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen to put his order in. 

The stranger couldn’t have been from around here. Ian was sure he would’ve remembered that face. He was so curious about this man and he didn’t understand why. It was like he was drawn to him for some reason. It was crazy, Ian knew, but he couldn’t explain it.

“Thanks, Ian. I’ll take over now. I’m done with the prep.” Fiona was running around like a chicken with her head cut off like she usually was at this time of the day.

Ian used this fact to try to convince her to let him keep that table. “Fi, you’re busy. I can take that table.” He tried to be cool about it, but Fiona narrowed her eyes at him because she knew as well as he did that it wasn’t like him to offer to do any extra work.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

Fiona thankfully shrugged it off. “Okay, thanks.”

Ian turned around, breathing a sigh of relief. He leaned against the counter trying to watch the man in the corner booth without being obvious about it. His hands were still fidgeting, and every once in a while he would nudge his nose with his finger while glancing around the diner nervously. He looked as if he wished he could be anywhere else in the world but where he was. Why? Ian couldn’t stand it. He just had to find out.

He made his way slowly over to his table. The man glanced over in his direction and when he saw him coming toward him, he did a double take.

Ian stood before him, resting his hip on the edge of the empty seat across from him. “What’s your name?”

“Who? Me?” the stranger asked, pointing to his chest.

Ian chuckled lightly. “Well, yeah, considering you’re the only person in the room.”

“Oh, right.” The guy was clearly distracted. “Um, Mickey.”

Even his name was sexy. “Nice to meet you, Mickey. I’m Ian.” Ian stretched his hand out for him to shake. He looked at it unsurely before finally grasping it in his. His skin was a combination of soft, but with callouses mixed in. And he also noticed a nasty scar on his knuckle that looked relatively recent. Mickey let go of his hand and placed his hands on the table in front of him, and that’s when he saw the tattoos. FUCK-U-UP across his knuckles. Wow, Ian had never seen anything like that before.

“Hey, look,” Mickey began, startling Ian. Mickey was actually talking to him unprompted. The butterflies that were already in Ian’s stomach fluttered mercilessly. But what Mickey said next shook Ian to his core. “Would you mind sitting down for a while and talking to me? I’m feeling a little low.”

All of the blood drained from Ian’s face as Mickey looked up at him, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. He was stunned into silence, so he just slid down into the booth without a word. Mickey looked down at the table shyly, his hands still fidgeting.

He watched Mickey carefully, not sure of what to say next. He had the weirdest combination of feelings-it felt like he had known Mickey for years but at the same time like he was the biggest mystery that Ian was determined to solve but never would completely. It was unsettling.

“Um,” Ian started unsurely, “why are you feeling low, Mickey?”

At the mention of his name, Mickey glanced up like he was shocked to hear it. A hint of a smile pulled at the side of his lips like he really liked what he heard. But as he thought over Ian’s question, the sadness took back over his features, much to Ian’s disappointment.

Mickey blew out a big breath, then answered Ian’s question. “I just turned eighteen two days ago.” Ian was about to wish him a happy belated birthday, but he spoke again as he turned his head to look out the window. “I got drafted.”

Mickey’s voice cracked on the last word, the fear evident in his voice. His eyes glassed over with unshed tears, making Ian’s heart ache. Before Ian could ask him why that clearly scared him so much, there was a familiar voice filling the air.

“Order up!” Fiona bellowed from the kitchen.

They both jumped and Ian’s hand instinctively went on top of Mickey’s covering his small one completely. They both realized what had happened at the same time and snatched their hands back like they had been burned.

“I’m sorry,” Ian apologized. “Let me go get your order. I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for an answer from the man, Ian jumped up and walked brusquely to the counter and snatched up his order and his shake and quickly made his way back to the table. He placed the plate in front of Mickey. He didn’t think the guy would like him sitting there watching him while he ate even though that’s exactly what Ian wanted to do. Suddenly, he had an idea.

“Hey, listen,” Ian said, watching Mickey pour ketchup on his plate as he stuffed his mouth full of French fries, “I’m off in an hour and I know where we can go.”

Mickey peered up at Ian with raised eyebrows as he sipped his shake to wash down the fries. He swallowed, seeming to consider Ian’s offer.

“Yeah, okay. That’d be alright.”

“Great!” Ian said, trying not to appear too excited, even though that’s exactly what he was. He never dreamed Mickey would agree to that. Especially since they didn’t really know each other and had hardly said two words to each other. “I’m going to go get busy. I’ll check back in on you in a while, alright?”

Mickey just nodded as he stuffed his burger into his mouth. Ian couldn’t help but smile. He was adorable.

Ian wasn’t actually off work in an hour, but he couldn’t let Mickey get away without talking to him some more and there was no way they were going to be able to have any kind of meaningful conversation during the lunch rush in this loud, godforsaken place.

So after a lot of begging, pleading, groveling, and promising to work double shifts for the next week, Fiona agreed to let Ian take off. When Fiona asked him why he all of a sudden needed to leave in such a rush, he told her he had a bad migraine. Luckily, she had been in the kitchen and hadn’t seen any of the exchange between him and Mickey.

She clearly bought it because an hour later, he and Mickey were walking out of Patsy’s together. They made their way tentatively down the sidewalk, walking closely next to each other but not touching. They both had their hands in their pockets, looking down at their shoes. Ian could now see that he had a good six inches on Mickey in height. He may have been short, but he could tell just by looking at him that he was strong.

Mickey pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up with shaky hands. He took a drag then handed it over to Ian. Ian smiled as he took it from him and took a hit as well. It instantly calmed his nerves, which were jittery as hell.

Ian didn’t know anything about this guy and he was taking him to his most sacred place. The place where he went when he needed to think or needed some alone time when the Gallagher house was just too much. But something in his gut told him that Mickey needed a place like that right now.

“How much further is this place, man?” Mickey asked as he blew smoke from his nostrils. The hot August sun was beating down on them mercilessly and they were both pouring sweat by now.

“Just a couple more blocks,” Ian answered, pointing in front of him, even though the place was nowhere in sight yet.

Ian looked over at Mickey and caught him staring at him, but they quickly looked away from each other, obviously embarrassed to have been caught. Ian was still honing his skills on knowing gay guys when he saw them, but this guy had straight written all over him. If the knuckle tats weren’t enough, the permanent scowl on his face sealed the deal. Ian didn’t care. For some unexplainable reason, Ian felt a connection with Mickey, and he wasn’t going to question it. Something inside him felt right ever since he laid eyes on him. He had to see this through and find out more about the man who had completely mesmerized him.

It made Ian feel good that Mickey obviously trusted him enough to follow him. Something in the way Mickey looked at him told Ian that he may have felt the same connection Ian did. 

A few minutes later, they made it to Ian’s spot-an old two-story abandoned building about a mile from his house.

“Come on, this way,” Ian waved him over toward the rickety old staircase that led to the roof.

“What the hell is this place?” Mickey asked skeptically. “It looks like it’s about to fall in.”

“I guarantee you it’s secure, Mickey,” Ian assured. “I come here all the time.”

They climbed to the top and Ian led him over to the edge where he took his seat and patted the surface next to him, inviting Mickey to join him. Mickey sat down with a huff. Ian threw his legs over the side and Mickey did the same.

Ian sighed, looking out at the bright blue sky. Or what he could see of it with the sun in his eyes. He glanced at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. He was smoking another cigarette, his hands still unsteady as he looked in the other direction as if he was afraid to look toward Ian.

Ian just sat there, waiting to see if Mickey was going to start talking. Ian didn’t want to pressure him or push him to talk about anything he didn’t want to. He didn’t have anywhere to be. He would wait as long as Mickey needed him to. As far as Ian was concerned, they could just sit here in companionable silence and not say a word.

Mickey looked straight ahead, running his hand through his hair before offering his cigarette to Ian. Ian gladly took it. He knew it was absurd, but Mickey offering him his cigarette made him feel special. He figured that Mickey didn’t share his smokes with just anybody.

“I got my draft papers a couple days ago, on my 18th birthday,” Mickey said. Ian froze in place, afraid that if he even moved, Mickey would stop talking. “Isn’t that a fucking gas? Being sent to fight in a war that I couldn’t give two shits about. And die for a country that doesn’t give two shits about me.”

Mickey threw his cigarette butt over the edge and watched as it fell to the ground below them. Ian just sat there, shell-shocked at what he’d just heard. What happened to Mickey to make him feel that way? Ian would give anything to be in his shoes, to be going off to serve his country with honor and dignity when they needed him most. And what did he mean by a country that “didn’t give two shits about him?” Ian wanted to ask him, but he decided to give him some much-needed words of encouragement first.

“Maybe you’re looking at this all wrong, Mickey. Maybe you should see this as an honor. An opportunity to serve your country and become a man. Be a hero to millions of….”

“Oh my god, you’re a hawk, aren’t you?” Mickey interjected. “A flag waving, apple pie-eating, born on the Fourth of July American fucking citizen.” Disdain dripped from Mickey’s voice as he shook his head.

Ian waited a couple of beats before he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just always been my dream to be an officer in the Army. I can’t wait until I turn eighteen so I can sign up.”

“You’re a damn fool,” Mickey scoffed as he lowered his head, drawing an obscure pattern on the surface beside him with a chunk of concrete. “Don’t officers get shot first?”

“I don’t want to get shot or die, but if that’s my destiny, I’m okay with that. There are worse ways to go than dying for your country.”

Mickey groaned and stood up, tossing the concrete over the edge of the building. “You are out of your damn mind, do you know that, Ian Gallagher? Crazy as a fucking loon.”

“Wait!” Ian called after him as he stalked over to the stairs. He took a few long strides and caught up to him, grabbing his arm and turning him around. Mickey’s wild eyes met his. “I never told you my last name was Gallagher. How did you know that?”

“I gotta go,” Mickey muttered, trying to turn away from Ian, but his firm hold kept Mickey in place.

“Please don’t go. Talk to me, Mickey. Tell me what’s going on.”

There had to be some explanation and Ian wasn’t going anywhere until he got it.

Mickey thumbed his nose and bit his lip, looking around like he was grasping desperately for an answer that he could tell Ian.

“It’s no big deal, okay?” Mickey relented with a sigh after several moments. “Me and my sister, Mandy, don’t go to school very much because our dad needs help with his business. Anyway, one day he came to pick us up from school and we were walking past the bleachers and saw you and that Rodney kid, ya know…..”

Ian tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat as he wondered where Mickey was going with this and if he wanted to hear it or not. A blush painted his cheeks as he realized that his and Rodney’s secret wasn’t as ‘secret’ as he had thought.

“And?” Ian prompted, confused as to what this had to do with anything. Suddenly, a frisson of fear shot through Ian’s body as he considered that he may have misread this whole situation. His defenses immediately went up. “So, what? You want to kick the gay boy’s ass now?”

Mickey’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “What? No! Jesus Christ, Gallagher.” Mickey threw his smoke down and stomped it out before pacing back and forth. Ian’s head was spinning, so many emotions running through him, confusion at the forefront at the moment. Ian finally couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“What the hell are you saying, Mickey?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as short as it did, but fuck. He needed some answers.

Mickey stopped pacing finally, but stood facing away from Ian as he spoke. “Mandy just started yammering on about you. I think she was pissed that she now knew why you never gave her the time of day.”

Ian smiled at the accuracy of that statement. He had literally never seen or noticed her before.

“She mentioned you worked at that grease pit diner. I didn’t really think much more about everything she told me, until two days ago.”

Ian was trying to make sense of everything, but he felt like he was completing a puzzle that was missing pieces. It was frustrating as hell. “Two days ago?”

“Yeah. When I got my draft papers.”

Mickey turned around slowly as his words from earlier ruminated in Ian’s mind. _A country that doesn’t give two shits about me._ Was Mickey saying he was……like Ian?

Ian implored him with his eyes, asking the burning question without saying a word. Mickey just stared at Ian, searching his face, wiling him to understand what Mickey was trying to tell him wordlessly. And he did. He understood. He knew exactly what Mickey was saying.

Ian inched closer to Mickey and was relieved when he didn’t turn away. Standing this close to him, Ian’s heart was pounding in his chest. He really was beautiful, even with the scars that were now visible on his face. Ian brought his hand up to lightly brush his fingers across an angry cut along his cheek.

Mickey flinched away from his touch, jerking his head back as if Ian’s fingers were on fire.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered, putting his hand back down to his side. “Can I ask how you got that?”

“That’s what you get in my house when you accidentally step on your dad’s boots he left in the middle of the hallway.”

Mickey shuffled his feet, wiping angrily at his eyes. Ian could see the unshed tears, making tears form in his own eyes. He wanted to go to Mickey, to wrap him up in his arms and comfort him. But he was too afraid of scaring Mickey away. So he stood there, watching him struggle, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

After a few beats, though, Mickey surprised him by stepping closer to him, although still keeping some space between them. Ian was frozen in place, afraid that if he moved even the least little bit, Mickey would turn away from him again. Mickey’s eyes came up to meet Ian’s, who reassured him with a small smile. Mickey gave a slight nod, silently giving Ian permission to touch him again. Ian slowly reached up once more and brushed his fingers across Mickey’s injured cheek. This time, Mickey seemed to melt into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

“It’s okay,” Ian reassured.

Mickey let him softly stroke his cheek, but with Ian’s words, he slowly shook his head.

“No, it’s not.” Mickey opened his eyes to stare sadly into Ian’s. The fear Ian saw there was heartbreaking. “My dad will kill me himself if he ever found out.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Mickey whispered harshly as he stepped away again, leaving Ian’s hand feeling empty without his skin to touch. He let out a humorless laugh. “Hell, maybe it would be better if I did die over there. It would save him the trouble.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Why the fuck not? It’s the truth!”

“There are worse things than having a gay son.”

Mickey scoffed, lighting up another cigarette. “Yeah, tell that to my Nazi-loving, gay bashing piece of shit father.”

“The only person I ever told was my brother. And that was only because he found my magazines under my bed.” Ian chuckled, attempting to lighten the tension, but Ian, taking in his cold eyes and tense shoulders, could see that it had no effect on Mickey. 

“Come here,” Ian coaxed, reaching out his hand.

Ian could see Mickey fighting it, the battle of wills inside him. His eyes were searching all around as he brought his hands up to his mouth in the praying position and blew out a harsh breath.

Before Ian knew what was happening, Mickey was stubbing out his smoke and coming toward him, bringing his body flush against Ian’s and crashing their lips together. Ian’s knees went weak with the feel of Mickey’s soft lips under his. The kiss was tentative, but firm. Ian let his tongue lick its way into Mickey’s mouth, and to Ian’s surprise, Mickey allowed it, welcoming him in with a swirl of his own tongue. A moan escaped Ian’s mouth, but Mickey swallowed it down. Ian turned his head to deepen the kiss, using his hands on the side of Mickey’s face to guide him where he wanted him to go. And Ian wanted him everywhere. Never had he kissed anybody who had so much passion, so much obvious want. It was a heady feeling.

Ian’s heart pounded relentlessly in his chest as Mickey smoothed his hands up Ian’s arms and into the hair at the nape of his neck. Ian wrapped one arm around Mickey’s body while still using the other hand at the back of his head to guide him. His fingers tangled in soft, dark hair, kneading the skin there.

Mickey was the first one to break the kiss, both of them panting for breath as Ian rested his forehead on Mickey’s.

“Holy shit.”

“I just had to know,” Mickey breathed. “Before I left.”

“Know what?”

“What it was like, you know? What it felt like to do that with a…..boy. ”

Ian’s breathing finally slowed down enough to where he could talk normally. “Well, was it as good as you imagined?”

“Better,” Mickey answered with a firm nod. He barely had the word out before Ian was kissing him again, drinking him in, getting drunk on his taste, the feel of him, and it was the best high he’d ever had.

When they broke apart this time, Mickey smiled shyly up at Ian, his skin flushed.

“When do you deploy?” Ian asked softly, already dreading the answer.

The smile slipped from Mickey’s face. “Day after tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Ian sighed.

“I know.”

Ian bent down to place a light kiss on Mickey’s forehead, watching as his eyes closed. “We better make the most of the time we have then, huh?”

Mickey nodded before they both turned back toward their spots on the roof and sat back down. They shared another smoke as they sat in comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts.

And for the first time in his life, Ian felt…..content, which to him was better than feeling happy. You could be happy about a lot of things. But content is something else entirely and much harder to come by, especially in their neighborhood.

He wasn’t sure how his next move was going to be received, but he decided to take the chance anyway. He reached down and gingerly took Mickey’s hand. To Ian’s surprise, he didn’t jerk his hand away. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with Ian’s and they sat there for the next several hours, talking about everything, talking about nothing, not talking at all.

The sun was setting, the sky painted a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. This was one of their silent moments. They sat together, shoulder to shoulder, hands still linked together. Ian had never had a hand fit so perfectly in his. They would steal glances at each other and smile when the other caught them, but not caring at all. Not only did sitting here holding Mickey’s hand feel perfect, it was also great to just be able to hold the hand of another guy without having to hide or to worry about the consequences.

“I got no one to send a letter to,” Mickey said suddenly, a quiver in his voice. The loneliness that seeped through was enough to break Ian’s heart into a million pieces.

“What about your dad or your sister?”

Mickey scoffed sadly. “They don’t give a shit about me.”

“I do,” Ian replied, bringing Mickey’s hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“Would you mind if I sent one back here to you?” Mickey glanced over at Ian, biting his lip again. His face was hopeful, while his brows were furrowed in worry. Ian understood what it must have taken for Mickey to ask him that. From everything Mickey had told him about himself, he knew that Mickey’s dad’s “business” was drugs and he was an abusive piece of shit. His sister was, as Mickey called her, a “hippie from hell,” who was off doing her own thing most of the time. So, in his mind, he had no one.

Ian’s family was crazy and chaos ensued daily in that house, but Ian never doubted that they all cared about him, just like he cared about them. Love was there among the chaos. If they didn’t care, his family wouldn’t be so scared about him going off to war. What must it feel like to think that no one in the world cared about what happened to you? Not even your family? Ian couldn’t imagine.

“Of course,” Ian answered with absolute sincerity. “And I will write you every day.”

Ian squeezed Mickey’s hand, trying to reassure him that there was at least one person in the world who cared what happened to him.

“I gotta cut out, Ian,” Mickey said, releasing Ian’s hand. “My old man is probably chomping at the bit wondering where I am. Either that or passed out drunk on the couch.”

Ian’s heart instantly felt like lead, knowing Mickey was about to leave him. They both stood up and climbed back down the staircase. Suddenly, Ian pulled Mickey back behind a wall where they couldn’t be seen from the street where there were undoubtedly people milling about.

“What’s wrong, Gallagher?” Mickey whispered harshly in confusion before Ian pushed him up against the wall.

Ian shook his head as his breathing sped up at their close proximity. “Nothing. I just had to be near you one more time.” He brought their foreheads together again as his body went flush against Mickey’s. He felt so good against Ian, solid and strong. “Tomorrow night, 6:00? I get off at 5:00 from the diner. Meet me here?”

“You got it, officer,” Mickey smirked.

Ian smiled at Mickey’s words, but then turned serious instantly before he asked his next question. He was nervous to ask, but he knew the reward would be worth it.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Mickey nodded his head before taking deep breath as Ian inched closer, closer until finally their lips connected.

The kiss was sweet but still managed to make Ian’s whole body tingle. Mickey’s lips were soft, and so full and warm.

Ian tilted his head to deepen the kiss just slightly, but not too much. Mickey responded by placing his hands on Ian’s hips. Ian could feel his warmth through the material of his shirt. A few seconds later, they were breaking apart, both of them breathless.

“Mickey,” Ian moaned. “God, I love kissing you. I’ve never kissed anybody like that. Never wanted to before.”

Mickey’s eyebrows rose and, even in the early dusk Ian could see the red tint appear on his cheeks. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Ian answered. “Only you.” Ian wasn’t sure if Mickey needed that reassurance, but that wasn’t the reason for his admission. He was just being honest. No one had ever excited him like Mickey did or ever made him enjoy kissing so much.

Mickey smiled, but didn’t respond. Instead, he reached up and connected their lips again in a soft kiss. That was all the answer Ian needed.

“I better go, man,” Mickey mumbled softly as he fiddled with the collar of Ian’s shirt. “Tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here,” Ian promised with every fiber of his being.

As Ian watched him leave, Mickey surprised him by turning back to look at him one last time, a smile on his face that matched Ian’s. He turned in the opposite direction to head home, already counting down the minutes until tomorrow night.

___________________________________

It was 6:30 the next night, and Ian was sitting on the roof of the abandoned building, but this time, Mickey wasn’t sitting beside him. Instead, he was lying next to him, with his head in Ian’s lap.

“So where will you go from here? Do you have any idea?” Ian asked as he leaned on his hands and looked up at the sky, the sun slowly sinking down into the clouds.

Mickey took a drag off his cigarette before reaching his arm up to put the smoke to Ian’s lips so he could take a hit. “I will be processed here, then sent to a training camp. Fort Irwin, I think? In Barstow, California.”

Ian had heard of it from his countless hours listening to news reports on his radio. He had spent many a night wondering what military base he would be sent to for his training when he enlisted. He practically knew every one of them in the country.

“Only seven more months, and I can join you over there,” Ian stated with pride.

Mickey sat up suddenly, a horror-filled look on his face. “No, Ian! Why would you willingly die for a country that tells you that you are one of God’s mistakes? You have so much to live for here. Unless you’re drafted, you need to stay here, on the Southside of Chicago where you belong. Not out there getting shot full of bullet holes.”

“I want to be where you are, Mickey.” Ian’s hand came up to sooth the skin of Mickey’s cheek. His fingers trailed down until he caught Mickey’s trembling chin with his thumb and forefinger. Ian leaned in close, placing a feather-light kiss on Mickey’s lips.

As they separated, Mickey’s pleading eyes opened and looked up at Ian. “Don’t,” Mickey said, his voice shaky with emotion.

“Don’t what?”

“Just…..” Mickey shook his head and looked down, taking Ian’s hand in his before looking up again, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over.

Ian rubbed Mickey’s eyes with his thumbs before guiding his head back down to his lap. “Shhh…..it’s okay, Mick. It’s just….” Ian waved his hand through the balmy night air, looking for the right words. “I’ve wanted this my whole life. I know you don’t get that and I understand why. But this has been my dream for…..”

“It’s a damn nightmare over there, Ian,” Mickey interjected. “It’s no dream. Men are dying by the thousands every day. I’ll probably be one of them. Just another goddamn statistic.”

“Don’t say that,” Ian admonished, putting his finger to Mickey’s lips. “You are going to do great things over there, I just know it.” Ian’s hand carded through Mickey’s black locks as he spoke. “And in a few months, I’ll be over there to protect you. This is something I’ve always wanted to do ever since I could remember.” Ian looked down in time to see Mickey roll his eyes, clearly annoyed that he wasn’t getting through to Ian. “But now I have an even better reason to go over there.” Ian bent down until his lips hovered right over Mickey’s. “You.”

Before Ian could bring their lips together, Mickey was wrapping his hand around the back of Ian’s neck and bringing his lips down to meet Mickey’s. They kissed like that for several minutes. Mickey scratched at the base of Ian’s neck, running his hands through the hair at the nape. Ian ran his hand over Mickey’s defined chest, feeling the ripple of muscles beneath his touch.

When the kiss finally ended, they both sighed contently, looking up at the stars that were now twinkling in the sky.

“Are you scared?” Ian didn’t know if he was asking Mickey or himself. He knew his answer though. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Scared for Mickey, scared for himself. Scared of the unknown, the uncertainty. He had always been so sure of what he wanted, but now a little seed of doubt was creeping in. Because now he had so much more to lose.

“Yeah,” Mickey admitted softly, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t,” Ian reassured him. “It’s scary going to some unknown place, full of strange faces, and men who want to see you dead. But you’re going to kick ass and take names over there. You wait and see.”

“That’s not why I’m scared. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Getting my head blown off by gooks is not my idea of a good time. But that’s not what scares me the most.”

“Then what is it, Mick?” Ian asked, concern etched on his face as his fingers continued to run soothingly through his hair.

Mickey turned his head to look Ian straight in the eye. “Never seeing you again.”

Ian’s hand stopped moving when Mickey’s words registered. Of all the things Ian was now scared of, if he was being honest with himself, that’s what he was scared of the most too. He didn’t want to hate this war. His loyalty to his country and his feelings for Mickey were battling in his heart, and right now, he didn’t know which one would prove victorious.

Ian crashed his lips to Mickey’s, desperately needing to be close to him in that moment, needing to reassure him that his fears were Ian’s fears. That the way he felt was the way Ian felt.

When they climbed down the stairs later that night, Ian pulled Mickey behind their wall again. “Mick, come here just one second.”

A look of relief passed over Mickey’s face, like he had been secretly hoping that Ian would pull him in their spot for one last kiss before they went their separate ways.

“Mickey, I want to kiss you here one last time, because tomorrow at the bus stop, we aren’t going to be able to do it and you know why. So, I want to give you your goodbye kiss now. If that’s alright with you.”

Mickey swallowed hard, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. That….that’s probably a good idea.”

Ian took his time, wanting to savor the last time he would kiss Mickey’s lips for a long time. He began kissing him tentatively at first, but soon they were deepening the kiss, their tongues meeting. They wrapped their arms around each other, holding on for dear life. A few moments later, Ian tasted salt, so he opened his eyes and realized that Mickey was crying, his tears running into Ian’s mouth. He didn’t know it until then, but he was crying too. Their sobs were caught in each other’s mouths as they enveloped each other. When the kiss ended, they remained together, clinging desperately, knowing that this was the last time they would hold each other like this.

They left there that night with an understanding of how they felt about each other. It was overwhelming for both of them, to feel all these emotions for someone you just met and after tomorrow, may never see again.

Mickey’s bus was leaving out at 10:00 tomorrow morning. Ian promised Mickey that he would be there and they walked away from each other again, the dread of the next day looming over them like a dark storm cloud.

____________________________________

The next morning, Ian made his way through the crowd of protesters at the bus station downtown. He looked at them with a little less contempt than he would have before, but kept walking before he could really examine what that meant.

Ian searched the crowd, looking for black hair for several minutes with no luck. Finally, he heard his name being called.

“Ian! Ian!” He turned around to see Mickey waving his tatted hand. Ian made his way quickly over to him. As he got closer, he saw Mickey was wearing nice slacks, shoes, and a dress shirt. He looked really nice. Ian was already used to the t-shirt and jeans he had worn the last couple of days.

His heart fell into his stomach as he took in the bag at Mickey’s feet, reality sinking in for what was about to happen.

“You look nice, soldier,” Ian greeted, silently begging his voice not to betray him. He reached up to straighten the collar on Mickey’s shirt, but quickly jerked his hand away when he got a couple of funny looks from passersby.

“Thank you, officer,” Mickey replied with a grin. “I see you made it through the queer rights rally.” Mickey pointed with his thumb at the crowd of people behind them.

“Damn, I must have missed that. All I saw were anti-war protesters.” Ian reached in his pocket and handed Mickey a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Mickey asked as he took the paper and began unfolding it.

“It’s my address. You can’t write me if you don’t have my address, silly.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Sorry, I forgot.”

“No sweat.”

They stood there facing each other awkwardly for a few minutes, neither of them sure of what to say next. They had said everything to each other the night before, and they had to be careful in this crowd of people, that the wrong person didn’t hear the wrong thing.

“Milkovich, Mickey!” the officer called from the bus, causing them both to jump.

Ian looked around at all of the families hugging and crying, saying goodbye to their loved ones. If he hugged Mickey, it could be just one brother hugging another brother, right? He stepped closer and reached out his arms. Mickey’s eyebrows rose on his head, but he let Ian’s arms engulf his body, even though he remained stock still.

Ian put his lips right next to Mickey’s ear and whispered. “Just go with it. We’re just two brothers hugging goodbye. I couldn’t let you go without holding you one last time.”

Mickey’s arms finally came around to hold Ian too. When he felt them, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It took everything Ian had in him not to break down right there in front of all of those people. His chin quivered as he stifled the sobs that wanted to escape.

As they released each other, Ian’s lips brushed past Mickey’s ear again.

“Come back to me.”

Mickey nodded, knuckling his nose, too overwhelmed to speak. Picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he grinned widely at Ian, even though he could see his chin trembling. Next, he did something that Ian was not expecting. He threw up a peace sign, but had his hand right over his heart, then pointed right at Ian. Ian knew without a word what it meant, and did the same.

He stood with the other families as they all watched their precious cargo board that bus. Ian waved when Mickey sat down in a seat closest to the window. Mickey just put his hand on the glass, watching Ian with sad, regretful eyes.

The bus revved up and was pulling away from the curb after a couple minutes. Ian followed the bus for as long as he could, until it finally turned right and headed west. Ian turned around to head back home, finally letting the tears fall.

_______________________________

A week went by, then two, then three. No word from Mickey. But with training and everything, he probably didn’t have time to write. At least that’s what he told himself. Ian started school at the beginning of September, getting back into his routine of school, football, homework. He ran home every day to check the mail, and every day, was disappointed.

One day, Lip caught up with Ian on his walk home while he was leaving Karen Jackson’s house. Lip had apparently skipped school to go fool around with her half the day. Lip was a genius and never studied, so he could do that. Ian had to work for every measly grade he got.

“Yo, wait up!” Lip called to a downtrodden Ian. He was tired of practically killing himself to get home after school to check for any mail. He was tired of being disappointed each time. His brother ran to catch up to him, slapping him on the back when he reached him. “Okay, lay it to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Ian asked, confused and not in the mood for whatever Lip was about say.

“Whatever has been eating at you for the past couple of months. Fiona basically threatened to throw me out of the house unless I found out what was wrong with you. You’ve been moping around with your lower lip dragging the floor. What gives?”

Ian had never breathed a word to anybody about Mickey. And even though Lip knew about him, he wasn’t about to tell him anything. Hell, Ian was starting to think he was nothing but a figment of his imagination anyway. Someone that perfect for him just couldn’t be real, right?

“It’s nothing, Lip,” Ian lied. “Just stressed with school and everything. We aren’t all geniuses like you.”

Lip scoffed derisively as he took a drag on his cigarette. “When have you ever given a shit about school?” His brother quirked an eyebrow at him, obviously waiting on further explanation.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. There’s nothing going on.”

“Okay, fine little bro. If you wanna play it like that. But you better talk to Fiona and get her off my back.”

“Fine, Lip. Jesus,” Ian groaned. He had no intention of talking to Fiona or anyone for that matter. He just wanted to be left the hell alone.

They climbed the stairs to their rickety house on S. Homan Avenue, the loud voices of the younger kids carrying through the front door. Just great.

Lip climbed up the stairwell to his room while Ian made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a banana from the bowl on the counter and turned to head up to his room when Fiona emerged from the bathroom in the kitchen.

“Hey, Ian. How was your day?” she asked as she buttoned her jeans.

“Fine, Fi.” He turned away from her, trying to discourage any further conversation that he definitely didn’t feel up to having.

“Hold on, Ian, before you go up.” Fiona stepped to the kitchen table, grabbed something he couldn’t see, and turned around, holding it out to him. “A letter came for you today.”

Ian jerked his head around so fast, he almost gave himself whiplash and snatched the letter from Fiona’s grasp. “Thanks!”

“Hey, who is Mickey M……” Fiona was asking but Ian was up the stairs before she even finished her sentence. He threw his books on the bed and ran right back out, the letter now stuffed in the front of his jeans. He ignored Lip calling after him asking where the fire was.

He didn’t hear anything else or see Fiona’s bewildered look as he made his way to the backyard, climbing into the old van that sat out there. It served as a bed for Frank sometimes, a shagging shack for Lip, but now it would be the place where he would read Mickey’s letters. There was nowhere in that damn house to get any privacy, so this would have to do.

He pulled the envelope from his jeans, smoothing it out on his lap as he scanned the front. It was from the same army camp Mickey had told him he would be going to in California.

He opened it, careful not to rip the envelope so he could have the address. With shaky hands, he pulled the paper out and gingerly unfolded it.

_28 August 68_

_Dear Ian,_

_I wanted to write you a letter right before we left for Vietnam. Sorry I haven’t written sooner but it’s been crazy here. Training has been hairy to say the least. A couple guys didn’t even make it past basic training. Pantywaists._

Ian laughed when he read that line.

_I hope you are doing good. How’s school going?_

_We fly out tomorrow for Vietnam so I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. I miss you._

_Mickey_

Ian read the letter over and over again. Especially those last three words. I miss you. Ian felt as if his heart might burst as he clutched the letter to his chest. If he’s leaving out for Vietnam tomorrow, that means Ian won’t know where to send his letter, so he’ll have to wait for the next one. Disappointment sat heavy in his chest until a sharp knock on the van door made him jump.

“What?!” Ian shrieked.

“Dinner’s ready! Come inside!” Fiona yelled.

Ian rolled his eyes. He didn’t care about eating right now, but he knew if he didn’t, he’d have to answer a bunch of questions, and he didn’t want to deal with that right now. So he carefully placed the letter back in its envelope, folded it, and put it back in the front of his jeans and made his way into the house.

Fiona shot skeptical looks his way the whole way through the meal, but Ian tried his best to ignore her. He knew she would attack him with a barrage of questions he didn’t want to answer as soon as they were alone, so he gave himself a mental reminder to not let that happen.

After dinner, he went upstairs to get a shower, reading through the letter a few more times as he sat on the toilet until one of his annoying siblings started banging on the door. Later, at bedtime, after reading the letter a couple more times under his covers with a flashlight after his other three brothers he shared the room with were asleep, he found an old shoebox to put the letter in, then wedged it between his bed and the wall, hoping no one would find it. He already knew how nosy Lip was.

Ian tossed and turned that night. He would turn over, feel for the box to make sure it was still there, then turn over and try futilely to go to sleep. All night long he did that. Finally, around 3AM, he went downstairs to get a drink of water from the kitchen.

“Who’s Mickey?” a voice asked while Ian was mid-sip, scaring the living daylights out of him.

Fiona rose from the wingback chair that was facing away from the kitchen. Oh shit, here we go.

“What the hell, Fi? What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Fiona answered, her hands on her hips. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Ian placed his cup in the sink. “No, I’m not.”

He turned to head back upstairs, but of course, Fiona wasn’t done. But at least this time, her voice was softer. “Ian, come sit down.”

Ian sighed and rubbed his eyes. He really wasn’t up for this right now. “What do you want, Fiona?” he asked as he plopped down in the chair opposite her.

Fiona reached her hands out to him across the table and looked sincerely into his eyes. He took her hands and waited for her to speak.

“Look, I know something is going on with you and I don’t know who Mickey is, but he must be pretty important to you, because your mood changed as soon as you found out about that letter. You’ve been sulking around this house for months and I’ve been worried about you. You don’t have to tell me anything right now, but please tell me when you’re ready, okay?”

She implored him with her eyes until he nodded in agreement. He wasn’t sure he could ever tell Fiona the truth about Mickey, about himself, but maybe one day he could muster up the courage to tell her some version of the truth.

“Love you, Fi,” Ian said as he got up to head back to his room.

“Love you, too, Ian.”

______________________________

The next letter came a few weeks later.

_17 October 68_

_Dear Ian,_

_I’m sorry again for not writing until now. Everything over here is so hectic, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going most days. I was in the trenches earlier, nothing but death surrounding me, the rain beating down on us while we dodged enemy fire. The noises, Ian. They are the scariest noises I’ve ever heard. Bangs, screams of pain, bombs, grenades exploding. It’s like nothing I’ve ever witnessed._

_One of the guys I trained with at camp, Cliff Tufton, but we call him, “Tuf,” was killed two days ago right beside me. Took a bullet right to the face. I tried to save him, Ian. God knows I tried. He had a newborn baby at home too. Just so fucking unfair, you know?_

_But whenever it’s getting really rough over here, I think of those days on the roof I spent with you. Believe me when I tell you, those were the best days of my life. I close my eyes and see your fiery red hair and your freckles, and feel your lips on mine. Thinking of you makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I can live to fight another day because that’s just one day closer to seeing you again._

_That’s what keeps me going over here. You. Us. And the hope that one day, if I make it out of here, we can be together and not have to hide._

_I know you have noble ideas of fighting for your country and being a hero. But I don’t care about any of that. I only fight for you. I want to be a hero for you. Meeting you was the greatest thing to ever happen to me and if I die over here, just know that you were loved. Because I do. I love you, Ian. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it that day at the bus stop._

_Don’t worry, but I probably won’t be able to write for a while……_

_Mickey_

With tears in his eyes, Ian ran upstairs and immediately grabbed a pencil and paper and began frantically writing a letter back to Mickey. He poured his heart out right there on those lines. He told him how much he loved him, how proud he was of him, and how much he prayed that Mickey made it home safe.

He told him not to worry about being his hero over there because he became a hero to Ian on that roof. Doing something you are completely fearful of doing, but you do it anyway made you a hero. Mickey was so afraid of acting on his feelings for Ian, but he did it. He overcame his fear and let Ian in. He let those walls he had built up so high come down. They still had to hide because of the world they lived in, but when they had been alone together, they were free. And in love. And like Mickey said, hopefully one day, they wouldn’t have to.

Ian put his letter in an envelope and planned to mail it when there weren’t so many Gallagher prying eyes around the house.

His mind and his heart were a little lighter that day. But the worry never quite released its hold on him.

_________________________

True to his word, it had been two months and still no letter from Mickey. Ian tried not to, but he worried constantly about him. He was distracted all the time. He didn’t care about school work, or football. His sister and brother were becoming increasingly concerned judging by the looks they gave him. Thankfully, they didn’t confront him. But he knew it was only a matter of time.

That Friday night, Ian was standing on the sidelines at the championship football game, the crowd in a frenzy around him, but his mind was halfway around the world. Was Mickey thinking about Ian as much as Ian was thinking about him? Was he cold? Hungry? Hurt? Before he could think too much on that, someone was saying the Lord’s Prayer over the intercom. He bowed his head and prayed for Mickey, not hearing anything else.

Someone appeared on the fifty yard line with a microphone in hand. The first notes of The Star Spangled Banner started playing. Ian, along with everyone else, put his hand over his heart. But instead of his hand being flat against his chest, he held up a peace sign.

Once the anthem was finished, the crowd noise got louder until another man’s voice carried over the intercom.

“Folks, would you bow your heads for a list of local Vietnam dead.”

Ian froze, not noticing when his helmet fell from his sweat-soaked hands onto the grass beneath him. The names that were about to be announced were some of the same people that were there that day at the bus stop. A crippling fear washed over Ian’s body as his heart pounded in his chest.

Voices swirled together as his head started spinning and his breath hitched. Sweat broke out on his already sweaty forehead, and he felt like the stadium was closing in on him. His chest heaved and his breath started coming in short gasps as he waited for the names to be announced.

They were listed in alphabetical order, and the closer the announcer got to the “M”s, the more frightened Ian became.

“Lucas Leonard, Brian Matthews, Mickey Milkov……”

“No!”

Ian turned and ran, the ground feeling like quick sand beneath him. Tears were streaming down his face, his legs pumping but seemingly going nowhere. He finally reached the bleachers and collapsed, his retching sobs being ripped from his chest along with his heart. He cried aloud as the fight song played above him, shaking the stands. He grabbed the post nearest to him, and started punching and kicking it.

The pain was clawing at him from the inside where his hatred for this godforsaken war was raging, bubbling up inside him so strong he felt like he would burst into flames.  
  
“Mickey! Mickey!” Ian screamed. He fell to the ground, pounding his fists into the grass, not caring that his knuckles were bloody and bruised. Any physical pain paled in comparison to what he was feeling inside. He wanted it to stop. Maybe if he hurt himself badly enough physically, the hurt in his heart would go away. He wished for it, begged for it, even though he knew there was no use.

“Mickey!” Ian screamed again right before he was being jerked up from behind. His fists immediately started flying.

“Ian! Ian! Calm down!” He heard the voice behind him cry.

There was someone in front of him too because he heard them calling his name. Everything was distorted, his tears and desperation blurring his vision.

Whoever was behind him put him in a choke hold and brought him down to the ground with a thud. “Get the hell OFF ME!” Ian choked out. “I hate this fucking war! I hate everything!”

“Ian, it’s Lip. I’m not letting you go until you calm down!”

“Ian, please, honey. Calm down.” Ian finally registered the tear-filled voice in front of him as Fiona’s.

Ian’s harsh breathing finally slowed after several minutes. Lip loosened his grip and Ian yanked himself free. “Get off me!”

“Ian, we’re just here to help,” Fiona pleaded.

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Ian barked. “Can you bring him back? Can you? No, I didn’t think so.”

With that, Ian turned and walked away, his brother and sister watching after him, but not stopping him.

_____________________________

Several weeks had passed, but Ian didn’t even notice. Time had no meaning, food had no taste, nothing in his life mattered. He went through the motions of his life. His grades tanked, he withdrew from anybody and everybody. He spent most of his free time in the van in the backyard with his shoebox of letters, reading over them. One right after the other. Over and over.

Ian had contacted the Army headquarters about arranging to have his body sent back home, but that was a long, pain-staking process and they told him they would contact him when they had any arrangements. Ian wanted to be the one to do it. He would make sure that Mickey got the proper burial that he deserved.

Ian was lying in his bed on a Saturday morning, facing the wall, shedding tears for Mickey yet again. Ian thought he’d be all cried out by now, but apparently not. He never slept. All he did was cry. He tried to be quiet at night when his brothers were sleeping, but he was pretty sure they heard him. He didn’t care.

The bedroom door creaked and Ian vaguely heard footsteps. “Ian?” Fiona. He did not feel like talking to her right now.

“What?” Ian said, sniffling.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Her voice was so soft and gentle that he hated to be mean to her, even though that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

Ian sat up and scooted over to give her room to sit down. He bent his legs and propped his elbows on his knees. He stared straight ahead as the bed dipped when Fiona sat down, wiping at his red, puffy eyes. 

Fiona cleared her throat before she began. “I wanted to see if you needed to talk.”

“No, I don’t,” Ian said simply, his expression stoic.

“Maybe it would help if you did.” Ian just scoffed and shook his head. “I’m so worried about you, Ian.” Fiona’s voice broke on a sob, but Ian couldn’t even bring himself to care. He knew that made him seem like a heartless asshole. Maybe he was, because his heart died over in Vietnam. 

“I don’t want to talk,” Ian replied through gritted teeth. 

“Please, Ian. I’m begging you. I can’t watch you like this anymore.” Fiona wiped her eyes before putting her hand on Ian’s knee. “We heard his name called that night at the football game, and then you were running. We know he meant something to you. I just would like to know what.”

Ian released a heavy sigh. How could he ever express in words what Mickey meant to him? He might as well tell her. Not like it mattered now anyway.

“I’m gay, Fiona.”

“I kind of figured that, Ian.”

“What? How?”

“You’re a good-looking, redhead teenager and you never bring girls around. Besides, I’ve caught you looking at guys when you didn’t think I noticed.” Fiona waited a few beats for Ian to continue, but he just sat there, numb. He didn’t even care that Fiona had known about him all this time. He didn’t care if she had a problem with it. It just didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore. “Want to tell me anything else?”

Ian sighed and finally relented. “You remember the day I asked you to go home early from Patsy’s because I had a headache?”

“Yeah,” Fiona nodded.

“Well, I met Mickey that day. He was the guy in the corner booth I waited on right before lunch.”

Fiona nodded again in understanding.

“He told me he had gotten drafted, so I asked him to come hang out with me. We spent the next two days together before he was deployed to a training camp in California and then he went to Vietnam. Those letters were from him.”

Ian sniffed and wiped his nose with his hand. There, the big secret was out. Now Fiona and Lip could feel better, but what about him? There was nothing that could ever make him feel better. The pain was just as fresh and new as it was a few weeks ago. Ian didn’t think it would ever subside.

“Oh, and for the record, you don’t have to worry about me enlisting. I don’t want a damn thing to do with the Army or the military. I might even go out there and join in on the protests.”

Fiona heaved a sigh of relief that she tried to hide, but Ian saw it. “Then I’ll join them with you.” She grasped his hand and squeezed.

“Why would I want anything to do with something that took away the only thing I ever gave a damn about? Mickey was against the war, too. But what choice did he have, huh? He went over there and died for nothing!”

Fiona grabbed Ian by the back of the head and pulled him closer to her. His shoulders shook from the sobs that wracked his body. Fiona just held him and let him cry it out. For the first time in a long time, he was thankful. Thankful that Fiona knew who he was and didn’t care. That she understood that he just needed to cry and she didn’t have to say a word.

_________________________

A couple months later, Ian finally got up the courage to go back to their spot. He had avoided the place for as long as he could. But he needed to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to be somewhere where there were no distractions. He needed to talk to Mickey. He knew it sounded crazy, but he felt like being up there would bring him closer to him.

It was early December and the cold Chicago winter was in full swing, so Ian grabbed his coat and scarf before walking out the door. He walked down the sidewalk, and for the first time in a long time, he held his head up. The sky was gray and devoid of clouds, but Ian felt a little better. He felt like he could breathe a little easier. Not much, but a little.

After going to the old building, he was planning on going downtown and marching with the anti-war protesters. Right at the bus station. The last place he ever saw Mickey. He thought maybe Mickey would get a kick out of that.

Ian finally made it to the abandoned building. It looked exactly the same, except for the remnants of snow hanging off the ledges. He climbed the icy stairs, but slipped on the next to last step. He cursed under his breath while stepping up onto the roof. He was wiping the snow from his pants when he heard a familiar voice.

“I knew you’d come.”

Ian’s head shot up, and his whole world tilted on its axis. His heart dropped to his stomach. It couldn’t be. He must be dreaming. Ian reached up, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands several times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. But each time, the same beautiful image stood before him.

If this was in fact a dream, he never wanted to wake up. Ian lost his voice, forgot how to breathe. All he could do was stare, still not completely convinced that his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“Mickey,” Ian choked out on a sob. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, Gallagher,” Mickey answered softly.

Ian took a few slow, shaky steps forward, drinking the man before him in. His beautiful, dark tresses were now buzzed all the way to his scalp, his blue eyes twinkling in the gray fog of the cold Chicago air. His full lips quirked up in a half smile. He wore his Army uniform with an assortment of medals pinned to his chest. Ian had never seen anyone look so handsome.

As his eyes scanned slowly down Mickey’s body, he finally saw the cane in Mickey’s right hand, his body tilted slightly to the side as he leaned on it.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

Mickey looked down instinctively at his injured leg. “Took a bullet in my knee. Hurt like a son of a bitch. They weren’t able to remove all the fragments, so I got honorably discharged.”

Ian stood stock still, so much he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask, but no words would form. For the first time in a long time, the air felt light around him instead of constantly weighed down by despair. A weight lifted from his shoulders and as his eyes met Mickey’s, all was finally right with his world.

Before he could think any more on it, Mickey was walking toward him with purpose, his cane not slowing him down in the slightest. Ian closed the distance between them, reaching out as soon as they were close enough. Ian had to touch him, to feel him, to know in his heart that this was actually real. That Mickey was real.

His hands gripped Mickey’s arms and squeezed before pulling him toward him, engulfing Mickey in an all-consuming embrace. Ian heard Mickey’s cane hit the floor beneath them as Mickey’s arms came around his waist.

The happy tears gushed from Ian’s eyes as he held on tight. “You came back to me.”

“You’re what kept me alive, Ian,” Mickey sobbed, his emotion getting the better of him.

Ian released him, but not completely, placing his hands on Mickey’s shoulders as the tears continued to fall. “When they called your name that night, I thought you were dead.”

Mickey looked at Ian in confusion. “Called my name? What are you talking about?”

“At the football game, they announced a list of Vietnam soldiers who had died. Your name was on that list, Mickey.” The memory was still so fresh that it hurt to even think about it, even though Mickey was right here with him.

“Oh shit, really? I guess somebody fucked up. I’m not surprised. There were so many bodies to account for, it’s a wonder they can keep up with them at all.” Mickey’s face fell into a somber expression. “I’m sorry you went through that, Ian.”

Ian dismissed Mickey’s apology with a shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that you’re here with me. Where you belong.”

“Always,” Mickey promised. 

Ian’s hand came up to cradle Mickey’s head, and he loved the feel of his short hair against his fingers. He looked down into sincere eyes before pressing his lips to Mickey’s. With that one single touch, all the broken pieces of him finally fit back together. He was complete.

The kiss held so much love, so much promise. They both felt it. Promises for their lives that were forever intertwined now, promises for their future. Every dream Ian had ever had melted away into that kiss. He had all he would ever need right there in his arms.

When they finally broke apart a few minutes later, Mickey stumbled a little and Ian immediately picked up his cane and helped him put it back in place.

“Thanks,” Mickey said.

Ian linked his arm around Mickey’s free arm. He couldn’t let go of him yet, still needing reassurance that this was really happening. “Hey, do you want to go with me someplace?”

“Where are you going?”

“Downtown to an anti-war protest.”

Mickey turned to look at him, but there were no questions in his eyes. Without a word, he understood completely. Ian had changed. And he had no regrets whatsoever.

“Sure,” Mickey nodded. “But there’s something I want to do first.”

“What?”

Mickey took Ian’s hand and silently led him to the edge of the roof where he carefully sat down and Ian sat right beside him. Ian smirked happily at him. “You know it’s 15 fucking degrees out here, right? And you don’t even have a coat.”

Mickey pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, taking one out and lighting it, throwing the pack somewhere on the other side of him. “I don’t give a shit. Besides, I didn’t want to wrinkle my uniform.”

Ian smiled over at him, accepting the cigarette he offered. He knew that Mickey, despite of how they both felt about the war now, was proud of what he had done and wanted Ian to be proud of him too. And he was. So damn proud.

“Is your knee okay?” Ian asked, his voice laced with concern. It couldn’t be comfortable for him sitting like this.

“I’ve never been better, Gallagher.”

Mickey turned and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and Ian answered with his own. He leaned over, and placed a sweet kiss of Mickey’s lips.

“Me either,” Ian answered as he pulled back.

For the next several hours, they sat there, sharing smokes, talking about everything except for what happened over there while Mickey was gone. Ian felt like he was given a second chance at happiness, and he wasn’t going to waste a single second on things he couldn’t change. Instead, he was going to focus on the things he could. That was part of their past, and they only wanted to focus on their future. A future that held hope and held promise for all the things that could be. As long as they were together, anything was possible.


End file.
